


I'm So Sorry

by this_is_athens



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, Mafia AU, coach dads, dont worry i have a whole plan, mafia, orphan!hinata, the tags will change but i have like one chapter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-12
Updated: 2018-02-12
Packaged: 2019-03-17 04:33:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13651515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/this_is_athens/pseuds/this_is_athens
Summary: Mafia AU, (not yakuza, I'm talking American Castellamarese War era) and plot twist, this shit's gonna be at least mostly historically accurate aside from the very-not-Italian names. Hinata is an orphan and he's adopted by Ukai and Takeda. This is during the era of Mafia Becoming An Organized Thing.





	I'm So Sorry

Shoyo had been twelve when he was adopted.

The orphanage hadn’t left him room to breathe, the throng of other kids a constant and the scents and sounds of too many people in one place going unnoticed to his conditioned senses. The kids reminded him of reality, that misfortune could always be worse. They were the same as Shoyo, just waiting for their own miracle. But as the years went on, the younger kids were snatched up and the war started. The kids left became sickly and pale, paper-thin dolls that were the result of inattentive parents, druggies, criminals. Shoyo had been left on the doorstep wrapped in a thin blanket, attached to some pitiful note about how his mother couldn’t take him. As he grew, Shoyo found out that this meant she had been raped, or a prostitute, or some kind of outgoing party girl that had forgotten protection. It was a boat a lot of the orphans were in. He didn’t mind, really. Shoyo tried not to dwell on it – everyone makes mistakes, right? Shoyo forgave and forgot easily. His optimism was rare in the orphanage. Shoyo had a lot of heart; at least, that’s what the director lady told him. People tried to take that from him, his fighting spirit – as one of the smallest kids in his age group, Shoyo was an easy target. He was just born that way, scrawny and easy to spot in a crowd because of his bright ginger head.

The first time he’d gotten into a fight, it had been just one kid. Tendou Satori, a fireball of a kid that enjoyed others’ pain. He had this wild mane of red hair, going straight up to defy gravity unlike Shoyo’s wild curls. Tendou’s parents had been gangsters, and his heritage was evident from the boy’s obsession with pain and being feared. When Tendou cornered him, Shoyo hadn’t thought twice. He’d flown at the kid with all the desperation of a kid trapped by an alleged sadist, and even though the other boy was bigger, Shoyo came out with only a bruise or two. Shoyo didn’t remember much, but Tendou had come out of that alley with a black eye and a broken rib, crying.  
After Tendou, Shoyo figured no one would try to corner him again. The other kids got the message: they shouldn’t mess with Shoyo. Alone, at least. The second time Shoyo was cornered, it was four on one. Tendou Satori led them, freshly recovered. He’d brought two other boys and a girl, all of them angry with nothing better to direct it at. Wanting to make an example. Power-hungry.

That was the day Shoyo learned to run.

Shoyo had been twelve when he was adopted. 

Their names were Keishin and Ittetsu, and they were the best people that could have possibly found Shoyo. Keishin was a relatively tall man, bleach-blond hair tied back most of the time, a razor-sharp grin that came attached. He was sweet; unsure of himself, but sweet. He wasn’t a traditional father, but he was perfect for Shoyo. He trained Shoyo with close range combat and throwing knives, making sure Shoyo could protect himself, always. Ittetsu was a happy, mild-mannered man with dark curls and rectangle glasses. Ittetsu was Keishin’s balance; where Keishin pushed, Ittetsu pulled back, worried where Keishin was confident, gentle to contrast Keishin’s fire.

They lived in the apartment above their convenience store. It was quaint, but it was home and Shoyo loved that. It was no American Dream, but the three of them didn’t need a picket fence to be happy. They loved each other, and that was enough.

Shoyo grew. He entered high school. Though the school didn’t have the money for sports teams, Shoyo played intramural volleyball as often as he could. It was something he enjoyed. It wasn’t often that he could play, because of his shift at the convenience store, but when he played he won every game with his setter and best friend, Tobio. High school happened. Shoyo laughed, played, cried. He matured. Shoyo kept his heart, shedding a layer or two of immaturity but keeping some of that naiveté that hallmarked his personality. With Keishin and Ittetsu, he’d learned; learned about struggle, friendship, and most importantly, survival.

Shoyo had been twelve when he was adopted. 

He’d never really had much money before – Shoyo’s possessions were limited to his clothes, his volleyball, and his teddy bear. Having parents meant he had a real bed, not a thin cot – it meant that there was someone to tuck him in at night and someone to make him breakfast in the morning. Real, homemade breakfast. With his family.

The first week was incredibly foreign – Shoyo would jolt out of bed, eyes flashing across the room before remembering that he was home now. He was safe. It was the warmest, happiest feeling Shoyo had felt in...he wasn’t sure how long. Every morning, it’d be breakfast made by either Ittetsu or Keishin, and as Shoyo entered high school, they taught him to cook too. They settled into a wonderful sort of comfortable synergy, a schedule that just seemed natural.

Shoyo began to help out more as the years went by, taking shifts at the convenience store. The three of them all knew why it had to be Shoyo, knew it was because no one else would work for the lower wages that were taking effect as inflation took hold. They all knew, but never said anything. Shoyo saw the customers thin out, leaving just a few regulars. He saw the bank statements fall as the prices rose, and the distress hidden in Keishin and Ittetsu’s faces when the mail came. The violence in their neighborhood was on the rise too, organized crime hitting all the nearby institutions. The grocer, the shoe store, the bank, everything in between; all robbed in the last few years. Some shut down. All got hit, but not the foothill store. Never the foothill store. 

Keishin saw it too, the unrest and violence, and by the start of Shoyo’s senior year Shoyo could fire the pistol that they kept behind the counter passably. Shoyo wasn’t really sure why they hadn’t been robbed at all. He’d assumed, at first, that it was just the intimidation factor: Keishin was strong and an incredible marksman. If Shoyo was faced with an armed Keishin, he would probably have a heart attack. But now, he wasn’t so sure. The kids at school started to stray from Shoyo – avoiding him after class, parting for him in hallways. There was one reason they could think of to explain the intact convenience store: Shoyo’s parents were Mafia. Kids with connections to crime didn’t often stay in school, so it didn’t get Shoyo any unwanted attention in that area; but that didn’t change the way he saw the other kids look at him. Shoyo caught Tobio staring at him like that one day after volleyball, with that look in his eyes wondering if it was really true, if Shoyo was capable of something of that scale. Wondering if Shoyo could really be a criminal. Shoyo had turned away, slung his bag over his shoulder, and left without looking back, blinking back tears. It hurt him that even his best friend wasn’t sure about this – but what hurt more was that Shoyo wasn’t sure either. Could it be true? Could his parents be killers? 

That day, Shoyo biked home, not bothering to wipe the few tears leaking from his brown eyes. He didn’t know what to think anymore. He slowed to a stop outside of the store, wiping his wind-bitten, rosy cheek, and was about to wheel the bicycle in when he heard the shouting inside the store.

“You can’t go back!” Ittetsu. “Both of us know it’s not you. It was never you.”

“What do you expect me to do, Ittetsu? How else will we survive this? You’ve seen what’s happening. We’ll lose the store and we won’t have a place to live. I have to.” Keishin.  
“You left, Keishin! They won’t have a choice. You set foot in there, they’ll have to shoot you, and that’s best case! Rules are rules with them – you know that!” Ittetsu sounded pathetically desperate, but he was also right, if Shoyo was right about what they were talking about.

“We don’t have any other options. I have to try.”

“You can’t!” 

The bell above the door clanged, bright and abrupt, interrupting. 

“I can.” Shoyo stood strong in the doorway, resolution on his face. His family needed something to support it. Shoyo would die before he let something happen to them.

Keishin and Ittetsu spun toward the door. Ittetsu’s eyes were wide, concern plastered across his face.

“No, no, no, Shoyo, I can’t let either of you get hurt – “

“No, he can.” Keishin’s hand was on his chin, and his eyes moved thoughtfully upward. “I could get him to Sawamura. A recommendation from me would get him in easy, yeah? It’s the safest way back in.”

“Nothing is safe in the Mafia, Keishin.” He’d finally said it. Mafia. The word was out there, in the air, making everything about this conversation real.

“We’ll be homeless if I don’t take this, Dad. Right?” Shoyo asked, looking at Keishin to make sure. Keishin took a pause, then nodded. Ittetsu sighed, lips pursed. He knew he couldn’t stop these idiots if he tried. Shoyo’s eyes stayed bright, and Ittetsu hated how he saw this as just another adventure, like it wasn’t the most dangerous thing in the whole damn city, like it wasn’t damnation. He was older now, but he was still a kid. This couldn’t end well.

“Where do I start?”

**Author's Note:**

> This is gonna be a wild ride, y'all. This is the first of the introduction chapters, so each other Karasuno first-year gets their own little backstory chapter. Then we move on to,,,illegal activity and fun and that's the part where ill be sorry for either sin or death or both. For reference, kiddo is about 18 and the year is 1931. Like, late 1931. So the violence? Yeah, the Castellamarese War. This is very very unbeta'd and very very much a product of my emotional distress and need for a distraction and therefore not quite my best work. Lemme know what ya think, yeah?


End file.
